


afraid i won't get out alive

by oopshidaisy



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bondage, Canon Compliant, Enthusiastic Slutty Bottom, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Service Top, except they're both in love with each other, i'll give u one guess who's who, they just have communication issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 13:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy
Summary: Rhodey’s just getting back from a date with a perfectly nice guy, a guy who’d offered to pay and who hadn’t minded that Rhodey had chosen a restaurant where they weren’t likely to run into anyone either of them knew—but as soon as he opens the door to his apartment he knows he’s fucked.





	afraid i won't get out alive

**Author's Note:**

> there's not enough rhodey/tony pwp. here, have some
> 
> title from 'animal' by neon trees

It doesn’t happen often, and Rhodey thinks he might be all the worse for it. If it happened frequently, he could at least build up an immunity to the way Tony looks at him, all glassy eyes and pouting lips, a hint of self-deprecation in the upturn at the corner of his mouth.

But Tony’s never one to slip into a routine, is entirely unpredictable when it comes to picking his moments. And he sure can pick them.

Rhodey’s just getting back from a date with a perfectly nice guy, a guy who’d offered to pay and who hadn’t minded that Rhodey had chosen a restaurant where they weren’t likely to run into anyone either of them knew—but as soon as he opens the door to his apartment he knows he’s fucked.

Tony—the sonofa _bitch_ —is wearing Rhodey’s oversized MIT hoodie and (most probably) nothing else, lounging across his sofa like he owns it and twirling a glass of white wine around in his fingers, liquid slopping preciously close to the edges.

This hasn’t happened in a while.

“You were gone for _ages_ ,” Tony complains. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and got a social life.”

“I was on a date,” Rhodey says, stiffly.

Tony’s grin widens. “ _Really?_ s’it serious?”

“You know I’d’ve told you if it was. It was our first date, actually.”

“So you’ll still fuck me?”

Rhodey hates him sometimes, he really does. “Christ, Tony.”

“Honeymuffin, you’re the light of my life, the stars in my eyes. Will you do me the immense pleasure of making _love_ to me?” Tony pauses. “Is that romantic enough?”

“I don’t need romance,” Rhodey scoffs, as if the idea is ridiculous to him. The idea _should_ be ridiculous, really. Fuck Tony for never giving Rhodey the chance to get over his stupid adolescent crush—it’s turned out to be extremely inconvenient in the long run. “Just a little warning would be nice.”

“Warning,” Tony repeats, like he’s taking Rhodey’s comments on board.

It’s been nearly six months since Tony last demanded that Rhodey fuck him, and Rhodey had been beginning to think that Tony was over it: that he’d stop turning up or calling every couple of months with sordid intentions. Last time was shortly after the Battle of New York: it had been rough, with Rhodey letting his frustration at Tony’s almost-death out in the way he gripped Tony’s hips, bit at the back at his neck. Tony had cried, a little, making soft sobbing noises into the pillow that Rhodey hasn’t heard before or since. It had been jarring, but Tony hadn’t safeworded or told him to stop, and when he’d calmed down he’d said, uncharacteristically quiet: ‘I needed that.’ He’d actually stayed at Rhodey’s place for a couple of days afterwards, although they didn’t have sex again. On the last day, Tony had apologised for nearly getting himself killed before he left and all but disappeared off the face of the earth for three weeks.

Since then, Tony’s been back to work as an Avenger, as Iron Man, and as Tony Stark, playboy-billionaire. Whenever Rhodey’s seen him, he’s looked exhausted in a deep and abiding way, dark circles carved underneath his eyes, lines in his face growing deeper. Some of it’s simple ageing, but Rhodey knows it’s more than that, too.

“Weren’t you dating an actress?” he says, remembering an article he’d caught online a few weeks ago. He’d scoffed at the time, but now it’s worth mentioning.

Tony waves a hand. “She was dull,” he replies. “And _boring_ in bed.”

“You mean she wouldn’t tie you to a headboard and fuck you?” Rhodey says, without any particular inflection. He sees the way Tony shudders all the same.

“Please, Rhodey.”

Rhodey could’ve put an end to this bullshit _years_ ago if not for the way Tony begs for it. Well. He could’ve put up more of a fight, certainly.

But moments like this, when Tony’s eyes are practically brimming with want and he’s allowing himself to trust, to be vulnerable even if only for a few hours—this is what effectively demolishes all of Rhodey’s crudely constructed defences. The way Tony’s looking at him makes him feel like more than a means to an end, makes him feel needed.

“So you haven’t seduced Captain America yet?” he says, and Tony makes a face that could mean any number of things.

“He’s not you.”

Rhodey doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he snags the glass of wine out of Tony’s hand and downs the rest of it, revelling in the way Tony’s gaze darts from his throat to his lips, restless as always.

“Please,” Tony says again, quieter.

“It’s been a long time, Tones,” Rhodey says, and then cuts him off when he tries to interrupt: “but I assume you still know where the bedroom is.”

Tony scrambles up immediately, looking ridiculously pleased with himself, and presses a hard kiss to Rhodey’s lips. It’d be easy to sink into it, but Rhodey pulls away after only a couple of seconds. The way Tony chases after his mouth is intoxicating, but Rhodey’s been addicted for a long time—long enough to build up a tolerance, at least.

“Bedroom,” Rhodey repeats, and Tony’s down the hall in seconds, jumping onto Rhodey’s bed hard enough that the pillows fly everywhere. At this point, it’s beyond Rhodey’s abilities to repress the fond smile that creeps onto his face.

“I’ve been waiting for _hours_ ,” Tony says, “and I was thinking if you were gonna be any longer I was just gonna come in here and jerk off onto the sheets.” He grins innocently up at Rhodey. “They are very nice sheets.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes in lieu of a response and starts stripping off his shirt, taking it one button at a time and trying not to pay too much attention to the way Tony’s got one hand inside the hoodie, rubbing at a nipple if the face he’s making is anything to go by. He’s staring up at Rhodey like he’s performing a striptease, rather than taking off his clothes like a normal person. It’s almost as flattering as it is embarrassing. “Take off the damn hoodie, Tones.”

Tony pouts. “You’re meant to be being nice to me.”

“Baby,” Rhodey says, which always makes Tony’s face do interesting things, including but not limited to blushing profusely, “I’ll be nice to you once you’re naked.”

“It was gonna be a surprise,” Tony huffs, manoeuvring himself out of the sweatshirt.

“What was…” Rhodey starts, and then chokes on the rest of his sentence. “How long…”

“Since I got here,” Tony says breathlessly, and Rhodey just can’t look away from the plug in his ass, the way his hole’s stretched tight around the base (which is, of course, adorned with a red gem that probably cost more than Rhodey’s entire home).

“You mean…” Rhodey trails off again, unable to complete the thought.

Tony grins. “Are you asking if I fingered myself on your couch, waiting for you? Got up to four fingers, but it wasn’t—” He pulls himself up onto his knees, pulling Rhodey’s head down so he can murmur directly in his ear, “—good enough. Even the toy, it’s not the same as you.” He makes a frustrated sound, and Rhodey would bet good money that Tony is responsible for—at the very least—the design of the plug, if not the actual production. And Tony doesn’t like it as much as Rhodey’s cock. The thought is oddly touching.

“It’s beautiful,” Rhodey says, and he means _you’re beautiful_.

“Touch me,” Tony responds, his hands flitting over Rhodey’s body with a sort of restless precision. After all these years, he knows exactly where to press to turn Rhodey on. It’s as much a curse as a blessing, because Rhodey knows that it will never feel like this with anyone else, that no one’s ever going to know him the way Tony does. “Please.”

Rhodey pushes him back down on the bed and covers his body with his own, hovering close enough that the promise of his weight bearing down is barely an inch away. Tony makes a helpless moaning noise, trying to press up against Rhodey. His dick is crushed against Rhodey’s stomach, and he can feel that it’s wet at the tip, smearing pre-come across Rhodey’s abs.

“You’re so good for me,” Rhodey whispers, and Tony thrusts up again with a whimper.

It’s moments like these that Rhodey can’t help but remember the first time, when they were still so young: drinking out the bottle and giggling as they passed it back and forth, trading sex stories with all the embellishments and exaggerations of young men, and Tony said, ‘It’s like, sometimes I just want someone to—to hold me down, and sort of take what they want.’ His voice was uncharacteristically hesitant, and he glanced sideways at Rhodey as if expecting to be chastised. Rhodey knew, even then, that Howard was to blame for that. ‘Someone?’ he’d asked, heart in his throat. And Tony had said, ‘Yeah, I… I’m not gay, but. I’d want—sometimes I want it to be a man.’ Rhodey’s heart had been racing, pulse hammering in his head. ‘I am,’ he’d replied. ‘Gay, I mean. In case you didn’t already know.’ It hadn’t been an hour before Tony was kissing him, whiskey strong on his breath and weight even stronger on his lap, clumsy at first—but Tony always was an exceptionally quick learner.

It’s been decades since then, and Tony’s found terminology for what he is and who he likes, even if he still hasn’t had an opportunity to use it to describe himself (at least not to anyone except Rhodey and maybe Pepper).

Tony expresses a complete lack of concern over not being able to date men publicly; the few times Rhodey’s mentioned it, he’s said _I’ve got you for that_ and proceeded to distract Rhodey with kisses. Rhodey’s not sure if Tony even thinks of his sexuality as more than a sex thing. He wonders if Tony’s ever thought about the possibility of falling in love with a man. Whether he ever has, and just hasn’t admitted it to himself.

He looks down, into the endless soft darkness of Tony’s eyes, the sweep of lashes that frame them, staring up at him with nothing but trust and unabashed lust. “God, look at you,” he says, watches Tony’s eyes flutter shut with the compliment. For someone who gets called a narcissist with depressing frequency, his boy is _terrible_ at taking compliments, squirming in place and making a pained noise. Rhodey can’t help himself: he kisses the corner of Tony’s lips, fleeting and soft, trying to express the overwhelming _love_ he feels without having to say the words out loud. “Do you want to come now?” he asks, snaking his hand between their bodies to grip Tony’s cock. “Or when I fuck you? Either’s fine.”

As soon as he’s given the choice, Tony’s clearly torn. “Want,” he starts, pushing into Rhodey’s tight hold, “want to come with you inside me.”

“Good boy,” Rhodey says, just to feel Tony’s dick twitch in his hand. He takes the opportunity to lean down, kissing Tony properly now, with tongue and just the barest hint of teeth. He swallows Tony’s moans, which come fast and loud, practically on every exhale. Rhodey, who has every faith in the soundproofing of his apartment walls, says, “Any louder and they’ll hear you next door—hear how desperate you are for me. Is that what you want?”

He can feel Tony gearing up to make a sarcastic comment in response and pulls harshly on one of his nipples to cut it off, revelling in the long, drawn-out _fuck_ the sensation elicits from Tony. “Stop—teasing,” he chokes out. “I’ve been ready for hours and you want to make me—shit, do that again—wait even longer?” Rhodey obligingly tugs on the short strands of hair at the top of Tony’s neck again before he crawls over to the bedside table to grab a condom and some lube.

“How do you want it?” he asks, rubbing along Tony’s thigh and pointedly not looking at the wet tip of his dick, straining up against his stomach. He doesn’t want to get distracted, after all. “Hands and knees? Or facing me?”

“Can you…?” Tony chews on his lower lip, which is already shiny with his spit. “I don’t mind, only want you to…”

“Tie you up?” Rhodey guesses, smirking when Tony drops his head into a jerky nod. “Sure, baby.” He takes a moment to evaluate the state Tony’s in, trying to evaluate whether he’ll prefer the harsh metal of cuffs or silk ties. Whether he wants tonight to hurt. “Hands up against the headboard,” he instructs, not waiting to see if Tony complies before he goes to the closet and picks out Tony’s favourite cuffs—the ones that are stolen from SHIELD’s seemingly endless supply of indestructible handcuffs.

When he turns back around, Tony’s a picture. His hands are wrapped around the slats of Rhodey’s headboard and his body’s spread out against the sheets, sweat glistening in the hollows of his collarbones and dick so hard it looks like it’s edging on painful. Rhodey has to bite his lip against the slew of compliments he wants to lavish on him.

Tony’s silent while he gets the cuffs in place, no sound except his laboured breathing and the hitch when each of the handcuffs click shut. Rhodey places the key on the bedside table and settles in between Tony’s thighs, running his fingers over the sensitive skin of his hips. “What am I gonna do with you?” he murmurs.

“Anything.”

“Good boy.” He strokes a hand down Tony’s tensed abdominal muscles until he reaches his cock, wrapping a hand loosely around the shaft and watching with a level of detached curiosity as Tony writhes for it, head thrashing to the side. With his other hand, he starts pulling the plug free of Tony’s body. Tony’s breath is coming in pants, now, and he seems unable to stay still. Rhodey chooses not to admonish him for that.

Once the plug is out, Tony’s hole flutters invitingly, trying to clench around nothing. Rhodey makes a sympathetic noise and replaces it with two of his fingers, marvelling at the way they slide in so easily, no resistance at all.

The inside of Tony’s hole is still slick with lube and his prostate’s easy to find. Rhodey’s spent years figuring out how to play Tony’s body like an instrument; practice makes perfect.

“Don’t need you to—just fuck me already, please, I’m ready,” Tony whines. His hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, sweat pooling in his collarbones. He’s the very picture of debauched, and a dark, unsettled part of Rhodey wants to keep him like this forever. Wants him to be _his_ , only his, forever.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’ve got you.”

He gives his own neglected cock a few pumps before putting the condom on, slicking it up and pressing against Tony’s entrance. He holds it there for a minute, just enough pressure that Tony’s mouth gapes open and a string of nonsensical sounds pour out, music to his ears.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Rhodey breathes, unable to prevent his voice from sounding reverent.

“Be even more gorgeous if you’d, god, just get in me,” Tony gasps, syllables tripping over each other.

Rhodey grins and pushes forward, Tony’s elongated groan washing over him. “Fuck, fuck, oh my god,” he says, clamped in the vice-like grip of Tony’s body.

“Move, please, just…”

Tony’s words taper off into a whine when Rhodey pulls back and thrusts in, the drag of friction almost overwhelming them both. He grips Tony’s thighs as he keeps up a punishing pace, each one of Tony’s helpless moans spurring him on.

“Jesus,” he gasps, pressing his face against Tony’s neck, lapping at the salt-slick skin there before he bites down—just shy of leaving a mark. Of all the most frustrating things about sleeping with Tony Stark, the need for discretion is at the top of Rhodey’s list.

Tony’s arms are straining against the cuffs, muscles more defined than ever now that’s he’s working out with super soldiers and alien-gods on a regular basis. His skin is going red with the overstimulation, blush washing over his cheeks and down his neck. “Go faster,” he’s moaning, the syllables slurred out from underneath his tongue.

“You’re such a slut,” Rhodey responds, complying all the same. He feels the way Tony shudders with the insult, sees the moment when he bites his lip.

“’m not,” Tony breathes, slightly contradicted by the way he’s trying to contort his body to get friction on his cock. “Touch me.”

“I got you,” Rhodey says, thinks about the myriad of ways that’s true. He gets his hand in between them, manages only a few strokes before Tony’s coming, a soft whine in his throat and eyes clenched shut. He’s sort of devastatingly beautiful, Rhodey thinks as his thrusts slow down.

“Keep going,” Tony murmurs, still in the midst of the aftershocks. “C’mon, want you to—please, come inside me—”

“Most people aren’t this talkative after they come,” Rhodey grunts.

“Y’know me, I’m not most people,” Tony babbles, eyes bright and a little wet still. “I wish you could see yourself right now, I should set up a camera next time so that you can—you’re stunning, I love you like this.”

And Rhodey’s coming, too, like Tony’s voice is pulling it out of him. He bites the noises he wants to make into Tony’s collarbone.

“That was fast,” Tony comments, because he sure knows how to ruin a lovely post-coital moment.

“Asshole,” Rhodey says.

“Hm. You’re still in mine.”

Rhodey swats at his arm. “Gross, dude.”

“Can we order, like, pizza or something?” Tony asks.

“Oh my _god_ , give a guy a minute,” Rhodey says. “Why, did you not eat?”

Tony winces when Rhodey pulls out, a word getting stuck in his throat and emerging as a garbled sound. “Urfh—no, I had the whole seducing you plan and there wasn’t really time to eat.”

“You’re such an idiot.” He’s unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.

Rhodey’s releasing the cuffs, now, fingers gentle against Tony’s wrists. As soon as he’s free from the restraints, Tony’s kissing him. Rhodey’s almost too shocked to respond, because—they don’t kiss, normally, after sex. Normally, it’s like once they’ve orgasmed they’re back to being all buddy-buddy, strictly platonic. Strange, how something as simple as a kiss can feel like a tectonic shift.

“Love you,” Tony says. “Can you order pepperoni while I shower?”

“Sure.”

“Unless you want spicy BBQ, or whatever.”

Sometimes Tony forgets the name of Rhodey’s hometown, or which football team Rhodey supports. And then, other times, Tony will remember the type of pizza Rhodey loves, or he’ll come out with the name of Rhodey’s childhood dog. “I already ate,” Rhodey says weakly, wishing he knew how to put into words the way Tony’s undivided attention makes him feel.

“Oh, sure, on your date.” Tony wrinkles his nose, halfway between the bed and the bathroom. “Do you really have to go on those?”

Rhodey frowns. “On dates?”

“Isn’t it boring, all that awkward getting-to-know-you shtick?”

“Not…really.” Rhodey sort of wishes Tony could have clothes on for these sorts of conversations.

“Oh, okay. I guess, if that’s your _thing_ …”

“Tones.” Rhodey takes a steadying breath. “What’s your opinion on me going on dates?”

“Well, I mean, _obviously_ I’d prefer it if you didn’t, but you’ve made it perfectly clear that it’s just a physical thing, and I respect that, so.” Tony turns away again, making towards the bathroom.

“Stop.” Rhodey’s voice is not as authoritative as he might have hoped. “What the fuck. When in the everloving hell did I make anything ‘ _perfectly clear_ ’?”

“Um, I asked you on, like, a million dates when we first started sleeping together and then we’d go out and you were all like _bro_ and _dude_ and I got the message, don’t worry.”

Rhodey closes his eyes and counts to ten, slowly. “Tony,” he says, “do you remember, in the past, how Pepper and I have told you how you need to verbalise things, so that us lesser mortals can understand your intentions?”

“Sure, although I think Pepper actually said that you were higher mortals.”

“Right,” Rhodey says. “So tell me, did you ever, once, say: _Rhodey, would you like to go on a date with me_?”

“Not…in those words, exactly.” Tony is finally looking like he would rather be clothed for this conversation. Rhodey, magnanimously, throws the hoodie over to him. “It was implied!”

“Oh,” Rhodey says.

Tony shrinks in on himself. “Sorry, I thought you knew. I won’t—I’ve made it weird, sorry.”

There this unfortunate habit Tony has, where he always apologises for the wrong things. “You haven’t—goddammit, I just wish you would’ve told me sooner. Or I wish I’d said something sooner. Shit.”

“If I thought I was sleeping with you under false pretences…”

“Why did you think I was doing this?”

Tony shrugs. “You’re a nice person. And I’m hot but, like, not dating material. That’s why Pepper and I lasted—what, two weeks?” Tony laughs, a note of bitterness in it. “And that was the only relationship I ever had that wasn’t friends with benefits or mostly PR.”

“Come here,” Rhodey says, soft.

Tony hesitates before he comes to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed, posture ramrod straight. And Rhodey’s entire perspective on his life is shifting, too fast for him to make sense of it, but he needs Tony to _know_. So he shuffles over to Tony, bedsheets bunching around his hips, and tilts Tony’s head up with two fingers under his chin.

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” he says, and Tony’s eyes are wild but he nods, quick and jerky.

There’s still so much to say—so much that Rhodey can barely even begin to process it—for now, their lips meeting: it’s enough. It’s the most important thing. It’s the _I’m in love with you_ that’s still barricaded in Rhodey’s throat.

**Author's Note:**

> local writer requires comments for validation
> 
> main twitter: [@davidfinchher](https://twitter.com/davidfinchher)  
> tumblr: [@lesbian-dennis](http://lesbian-dennis.tumblr.com)  
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